In Another Life
by Shinigami Yumi
Summary: What if Erik had been the one to break into Charles's Westchester mansion that night in 1944 instead of Raven?
1. To Catch A Thief

**Important:** This is actually a series of stories set in one universe that will be written out of chronological order. Unfortunately, this site presently does not have proper support for this type of work, and thus, I have to post it as a multi-chaptered fic. As of right now, I don't know how much of this there will be and how timely updates will be. Review, make suggestions, inspire me. Let's see how much I end up writing in this verse.

**Warnings:** There will eventually be slash, although presently, they are just two friends being adorable children with warm and fuzzy feelings. Despite the genres marked, there is most definitely a plot, and it will surface soon enough. Little Charles is cheesy. As you can see from his flirtation skills in the movie, he doesn't get much better over time. Erik will turn out a little different from growing up with Charles, but I leave it to you to determine if it's too huge a characterization jump. Again, _there will be slash_. Just so you are duly warned.

.

**Title:** To Catch A Thief

**Summary:** Charles goes to catch a burglar in his kitchen, barely escapes being killed, and gets a little lost.

* * *

><p>Something foreign wakes him, and as he blinks at the dying embers in the fireplace, Charles Xavier isn't quite sure what. It's not the rain pattering on the windowpanes, of that much he is certain, and nothing else seems out of place in the dim firelight. <em>The kitchen,<em> he realizes as his mind picks it out, and he rises quietly, going to take his baseball bat out of the cupboard. A burglar is in the kitchen, and Charles fully intends to make his mother proud by catching him. Maybe, if he tries hard enough, he can distract her from Kurt and the mini bar in her room.

He tiptoes out of his room and down the stairs. The kitchen door is ajar when he creeps up to it and peers in.

He gasps.

It's a boy, a little bigger than himself, rifling through the fridge.

The intruder jumps at the sound and whips around, glancing at him, at the bat in his hands. Wild eyes cast around swiftly before the other waves his hand at the counter. Charles almost drops the bat in wonder.

A knife is sliding out of its rack, tipping over in midair.

Suddenly, it's flying at him, and he's in. Inside a mind as sharp as the blade that misses his ear by a hair's breadth. It's only too easy to slip off the edge, and he falls.

* * *

><p>He's trying to move a coin on a wooden desk, but it refuses to budge.<p>

"Drei."

A gunshot.

He jumps.

But Erik doesn't. He doesn't believe it, doesn't want to believe it's real as he slowly turns in shock.

Charles covers his mouth with his hands to silence a gasp.

Mama is crumpled on the floor, still and bleeding.

That's when it kicks in, the metal, the pain, the anger. The bell on the desk crumples as he snarls. It only makes him angrier, and he screams. Because, only seconds ago, it could have made a difference, but no. No. He takes it out on the shelves, the guns, the helmets, and screams some more. Because the tools and tables in the next room are flying wildly in the air now when only a minute ago, he couldn't even nudge one measly coin, and it would have mattered. He could have saved her.

_Mama is dead because of me. I couldn't save her._

The realization drains him, and everything —the anger, the frustration, the pain— just dies inside, and it's cold. Cold, empty and broken.

_I killed her._ He hates himself, hates his powers, the coin, the doctor, hates everything. _I killed Mama._

_No!_ Charles tries to tell him through the tears. _It's not your fault, Erik. It's not your fault! You didn't do anything!_

But Erik can't hear, can't even cry as something cold and hard is pressed into his hand. That accursed coin won't even leave him alone.

.

The next time he opens his eyes, he's strapped to a table, and he can't feel anything but the cold. A white hand descends on him with a scalpel, and he can't make himself move away. He's afraid now, and Charles closes his eyes because he doesn't want to see. Then the pain comes, sharp and searing, blocking out everything. The metal won't move, and he can't even scream.

.

He wakes in a small windowless room, naked and shivering in a corner on a thin bunk. His entire body hurts —his arms, his legs, even his insides—, and he wants nothing more than a scalding hot shower.

.

The smell of death overpowers the scent of the grass beneath his feet. There's no one in this corner behind the doctor's building, but the air is still heavy with despair more solid and palpable than the dirt and ash all around. He's learning to sense the metal around him, even what he can't see, and he managed to move some bigger things today. Herr Doktor was delighted.

There's a discontinuity in the wire of the fence, and as he approaches for a closer look, it widens invitingly. He folds it back, marveling at the way it responds to his will, and crawls through the resulting hole. He closes it again, but it won't go back to the way it was, and he gives up shortly. He's still not very good.

He turns and walks away from it, looks back after a few steps. _Where will I go?_ he wonders. He doesn't know what's out there.

He keeps walking. _It has to be better than this,_ he tells himself. _It has to be._

People are shouting behind him. He breaks into a run. Bullets whiz past, and he speeds up, doesn't even glance back. He can't feel his legs, can barely breathe, but _I can't stop now,_ he knows. _I can't stop._

Herr Doktor is yelling now. The gunshots stop. The doctor wants him alive. He doesn't slow.

Suddenly, it's quiet, and he can't see anything but trees on every side. Still, he keeps running.

.

They find him in the forest. He snatches their guns and either shoots or bludgeons them. He feels dirty when it's over. He drops the weapons and steals their travel supplies. He walks towards the metal until he finds their vehicles and kills the guards with their own weapons. It doesn't take long for him to figure out how to drive.

.

Eventually, the car won't move any further, so he continues on foot and steals another —and more supplies— at the next checkpoint. He doesn't know where he's going, but the ground tells him this is the way, so he keeps going. He's almost out of food when he reaches the water, but it doesn't matter. He's tired, so very tired. He falls in gracelessly, letting himself float along with the current.

_I'm going to see Mama again,_ he thinks, and that sounds nice. Peaceful. _I get to tell her I'm sorry._ He closes his eyes.

* * *

><p>An anguished grunt brings him back to himself.<p>

Erik is curled up on the floor, his head in his hands. "Wer bist du? Was tust du mir an?"

Charles frowns. He doesn't understand the language, but they're still connected, so he searches for Erik's intention. He finds it, and he thinks he can convey his meaning telepathically as well.

_I'm sorry, Erik,_ he says, moving closer to kneel down beside him. _My name is Charles Xavier. I was only trying to defend myself. I didn't mean to see all that._ He wipes Erik's tears away with his fingertips and helps the older boy sit up. _Did I hurt you?_

Confused eyes search his face, distrustful. Eventually, Erik seems to arrive at how they are communicating through the language barrier and warily thinks, _How are you doing this?_ at him.

"Oh." He wipes his own tears on his pajama sleeve and offers a reassuring smile. _Calm your mind. I'm like you._

The other shakes his head in rising panic. "Nein. Nicht so wie ich. Nein."

He winces. _Please, Erik, calm your mind. Please, y—you're hurting me._

This surprises Erik enough that he temporarily forgets his paranoia. Tentatively, he touches Charles's cheek with some curiosity. Charles carefully reaches up to cover Erik's hand with his own smaller one.

_It's all right. I promise I won't hurt you. I always knew I couldn't be the only one, the only one who was...different. You can control metal with your thoughts?_

Erik nods once, hesitant, suspicious.

_I can...connect my mind with others',_ is the explanation he settles for. _I'm like you._

Erik studies him intently, staring. At length, he seems to accept that they are alike. He looks down at his other hand. He's shivering. "Ich dachte, dass ich allein wäre."

Charles shakes his head and takes hold of Erik's other hand as well. _You're not alone, Erik, and you don't have to steal. We have plenty of food; take as much as you want. In fact..._ He smiles, tightening his hold on those long, cold fingers. _If you want, you'll never have to steal again._

It takes Erik several moments to catch his meaning, and aquamarine eyes widen in surprise. _You... You want me to stay?_

"Yes!" Charles blinks and quickly looks away as if at once surprised and abashed by his outburst. "I mean..." _Well, only if you want to,_ he amends sheepishly.

Erik pulls his hands away, still wary. _Why? I almost killed you._

Charles chuckles wryly. _To be fair, I almost clobbered you senseless with a baseball bat and called the police._ He holds out his hand. _Let's call it even?_

Erik wants to argue that they're not nearly the same, but he's hungry. And in a world he'd accepted as being cold, dark and ugly, Charles and his house are the warmest, brightest, most beautiful things he's ever seen. He shakes the offered hand. _You want me to stay?_ he asks again. Because he can't believe it, can't believe he's being offered a place, a _home_, in this stranger's unimaginably luxurious abode.

"Yes." Charles rises and helps him up. _Do you want to?_ It sounds too good to be true, and he's afraid to even want it, but "Bitte," Charles tries, and Erik thinks he's gleaned enough to give the right answer. Charles lights up like the sunrise before he can even wrap his tongue around the words.

"I want to."


	2. Meanings My Mother Taught Me

**Title:** Meanings My Mother Taught Me

**Summary:** Set two months after To Catch A Thief, Erik goes looking for a missing Charles.

* * *

><p>Charles has a mother, a stepfather and a stepbrother living with him, but in the two months that he has lived here, Erik has only ever caught glimpses of Kurt Marko on his way up the stairs and actually interacted with Charles and their housekeeper, Marianne. Both are reticent as to why the rest of the household is so elusive, and Erik knows enough not to press. Charles has asked that he not explore the third floor and to be quiet whenever he visits the library there so as not to disturb his parents, meaning they must spend a lot of time up there. But surely, <em>surely<em>, they leave the room and house sometimes?

Today, it seems he will be playing hide-and-seek with Charles as well. He hasn't seen the younger boy all day, and Charles isn't in the library, which is strange. Whenever they are not together, Charles usually has his nose buried in some book there. Most days, they read there together with Charles explaining words he doesn't understand. At the same time, he teaches Charles how to say the words in German. While he can easily pluck the words right out of Erik's head, Charles needs help with pronunciation, and he's only too eager to learn his new friend's mother tongue properly. The telepath's memory is amazing; Charles never forgets anything, and his pronunciation has improved tremendously over the past month. They now spend two hours a day speaking only German, so Charles can practice and Erik won't forget.

The mansion is silent as Erik walks down the stairs to the second floor to begin his search through the many rooms and hallways. With her other duties, it takes Marianne a week to completely clean each floor, and by the time she finishes with the last room, it's time to clean the first again. Even back when he lived in Düsseldorf, he had never seen a house this big. The thought of home saddens him. He misses Mama, especially when Marianne ruffles his hair as she serves dinner just like she used to. He shakes his head, resolutely thinking of better things. Charles had his chauffeur, Christopher, take them shopping last week, their second trip, to buy him more clothes and shoes. Everything Charles showed him was beautiful. They also looked expensive, but Charles wouldn't let him see or ask for the price.

"Pretend it's a present," he said. "Whenever you buy gifts, you remove the price tag, so it's a secret. Don't think about it. Just pick out what you like." And when it was time to pay, Charles would send him off to buy them ice cream, saying with a laugh, "No peeking! I'll know if you try."

As he checks one vacant room after another, Erik finds himself wishing he could tell Mama she was right: everything did turn out all right. Charles has everything anyone could ever need or want and is only too happy to share. He isn't sure how he survived all those cold nights on the streets, breaking into shops and houses to steal what he needed to survive, sneaking onto trucks and ships to reach new places in hope of better days, unable to trust anyone. He doesn't know how long he would have lived on just like that if Charles hadn't stopped him that rainy night. And even though it's just pretend, Charles treats Erik like the second cousins he tells people they are, like Erik is family. He's happy here; he's just sorry Mama couldn't be with him.

Erik reaches the end of the wing and heads down to the first floor. As he passes the open window on the landing, he hears talking below and leans out over the side table to look. Charles is there in the garden with a bigger, red-haired boy.

"Cain, please. Give that back and leave me alone," Charles is saying calmly. "This doesn't do either of us any good."

"Not a chance," the redhead replies, holding a book high above his head. He is twice Charles's size. "You should've just done what I said."

"Why should I? You know what? Fine, keep it." Charles walks past him to leave.

Cain grabs his stepbrother's arm and yanks hard, but barely succeeds at making Charles stop. Charles is strong for his size.

"Who said you could leave?"

Charles turns and shakes Cain's hand off. "I don't need anyone's permission. Look, it'd be best for us both if you quit this."

"You threatening me? Oh." He grabs Charles by the collar. "So that's how he finds out. Here you act all goody-goody, and then you run crying to my father."

"What? No!"

"You two-faced little bastard."

He shoves Charles away roughly. Charles stumbles several steps back and loses his balance, falling backwards off a stone ledge with a grunt. Cain leaps after him, angry, and gives him a sharp kick to the side.

Suddenly, Erik finds the bronze figurine on the side table hurtling towards the bigger boy's head. The metal connects hard and Cain goes tumbling to the ground beside a stunned Charles. The telepath rises gingerly to his feet and picks the figurine up. His blue eyes flick towards the window instantly.

_E–Erik? Oh God._

Then Charles is running as fast as his legs would carry him, and a minute later, he is rushing up the stairs onto the landing. He grabs Erik's hand and leads him to the second floor bathroom.

"Why did you do that?" He turns the tap to wash the statuette in the sink. There is blood on it.

"He was hurting you," Erik replies, confused. Charles seems upset.

The other's expression softens. He wipes the figurine dry with the hand towel. "Let's put Osiris back where he belongs."

Erik nods and follows him back to the landing.

"Listen," Charles says as he puts it back in its place. He turns to take Erik's hand before continuing. "I'm going to call a doctor. Whatever happens, say you didn't see anything, okay?" He doesn't wait for a response, running off down the stairs.

Abruptly, he stops.

"Oh, thank God," he breathes, sagging against the wall in relief. "He's awake. Seems fine." He turns around and walks back up the stairs, patting Erik on the shoulder as he passes. "Come on, let's head upstairs."

Erik follows him back to their room in silence. Charles locks the door behind them before flopping back gracelessly on the bed.

"Are you mad at me?" Erik asks at last, coming to sit beside him.

"No, of course not!" He sits up and runs a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. Thank you. I was just...what if the damage was permanent?"

Erik blinks. _Isn't that best?_ he wonders. _Then he can't hurt you anymore._

Charles shakes his head. "No, Erik, no," he says. "Don't think like that. Do you remember..." He trails off, not wanting to think of it, much less remind Erik of it.

"Remember what?"

He places his hands on Erik's shoulders. "When you killed your pursuers. In the forest. Do you remember how you felt?"

Erik shudders, closing his eyes. "Cold," he answers. "Dirty. Scared."

Charles leans forward to hug him tightly. "I don't want you to feel like that ever again," he whispers. "Especially not for me. Promise me?"

Erik nods. "What if I have to?"

"You won't. I'll try really hard, so you won't."

"What if I do?"

Charles hesitates, pulling away. "Then I guess there's no choice," he answers slowly. "You have to defend yourself."

"Why didn't you?"

"Sorry?"

"Earlier." Erik tilts his head. "You could have stopped him with a thought."

Charles looks down at his hands. "It's wrong to change how people think. They wouldn't still be themselves."

"But making people believe we are cousins is not wrong?"

This surprises Charles, and he thinks for a long moment before he answers, "I couldn't think of a better way to allow you to stay."

"Even if it's wrong, it's all right?" Erik asks, looking concerned.

Charles shakes his head. "But it's better than sending you away."

Erik says nothing, seeming to think about this intently. Charles frowns. He doesn't like how Erik is thinking. Darting forward, he touches his lips briefly to Erik's cheek.

"C–Charles?" It takes Erik by surprise, distracts him.

"Mother said it means I care about you," Charles explains. "She doesn't do it often these days though."

"You seem sad. Is that why I never see her?"

Charles looks away, drawing his knees up to his chest. "Mm. She's rarely left her room since father died."

"And your stepfather?"

He wraps his arms around himself. "Doesn't love her. She knows. It hurts her."

Erik moves closer. He doesn't envy Charles his power. "And Cain?"

"Kurt always tells him to be more like me. If Kurt finds out about today, he will beat Cain. I don't want that, so I avoid him, but sometimes it doesn't work." He shakes his head. "I'll try harder."

Tentatively, Erik puts an arm around the younger boy, and Charles leans against his side. So there are things even Charles doesn't have, after all. A long time passes in silence, and finally, he says, "I didn't mean to do that."

"I know."

"What if it happens again?"

"Let's train?" Charles suggests. "So you can control it."

Erik nods. So no matter what happens, he won't lose Charles like he lost Mama, and they can have each other. He turns and touches his lips to Charles's forehead. Charles leans into it, closes his eyes and smiles.

"Mama told me it means I'll take care of you."

"I know you will, Erik. I know you will."


	3. More Than Meets The Eye

**Title:** More Than Meets The Eye

**Summary:** It is September 1962. Charles and Erik stayed on as professors at Oxford after finishing their doctorates and hear about the Cuban Missile Crisis on the news. They return home to discover the mutant hand in the coming war.

* * *

><p>Charles is cooking dinner with the television on in the kitchen when Erik lets himself back into the two-bedroom apartment they share a twenty-minute walk away from Oxford. He puts his bag down on the chair before wrapping his arms around Charles's waist in greeting.<p>

"What's for dinner?" he asks, pressing a kiss to the other's temple.

Charles leans into the embrace as he continues slicing onions and chuckles. "You're all sweaty! I'm making cottage pie."

"It's already September. Don't you have research to do, lectures to prepare?"

"Nothing I can't do here."

"Should I shower first or do you need any help?"

Moving the onions to a plate, he starts on the celery. "Wait for me. Why don't you mash the potatoes? They should be ready."

Erik gives him another kiss, this time on the cheek, before heading over to turn the stove off. Out of the corner of his eye, Charles watches with a smile as Erik levitates the pot and strainer to drain the potatoes. There are some very practical applications for Erik's gift, some more appreciable than others, but none nearly quite as impressive as the precision with which he shapes the little figurines lining their rooms or the force exerted in turning the satellite dish back in Westchester. Charles doesn't think he'll ever tire of this.

Once everything is in the oven, they head into the bathroom, manoeuvring around each other in the shower with the ease of familiarity. Charles remembers the first time they'd showered together with fond amusement.

A fifteen-year-old Erik had been making the first of his many figurines when Charles snatched it out of his hands, mostly to get his attention, but also because Charles was quite impressed. He made Erik chase after him for it all the way across the garden, and then they somehow ended up in the lake together. Erik got the figurine back, but lost it as they were splashing each other, a problem he only discovered when they were almost back at the mansion some hours later. Dismayed, Erik ran all the way back with Charles at his heels asking why he couldn't just make another one.

"It's almost perfect!" Erik protested without even glancing back. "It's supposed to be for you!"

And then he'd made Charles very proud by locating and retrieving it with his power.

The little aluminium Merlyn is still his favourite piece of the Arthurian chess set Erik slowly made for him over the years after they'd read the first three TH White books together. The set now resides in a glass case in his room whenever they aren't playing, and he cleans and polishes it every time he returns to New York.

They got back to the mansion drenched and shivering, not even bothering to remove their clothes before getting under the hot spray to warm up. As they sat hand-in-hand in the shower, still fully clothed, he rested his head on Erik's shoulder and contentedly told him, "You're like Galahad, Erik. Perfect."

"Nngh, I'd rather be Arthur."

Charles giggled. "A king?"

"Mm," Erik agreed. "But mostly because Merlyn's always with him."

"What are you thinking of that's got you wearing that silly smile?" Erik asks, pulling him close and interrupting his reverie.

"Just remembering how Galahad wanted to be King Arthur," he replies a little breathlessly, tilting his face up to kiss his lover.

"Still about that? Sometimes I wonder if you really are living through time backwards," Erik mutters, pressing him back against the wall, and for the next fifteen minutes or so, Charles doesn't really think about anything.

* * *

><p>The news comes on as Erik is making the steel baking pan float from the oven to the dinner table, and the headlines are almost enough to ruin the evening's contentment. There is growing suspicion that the Soviet Union is building a missile base in Cuba.<p>

"Erik, let's go home," Charles suggests quietly as Erik sits down.

The other begins eating. "If nuclear war is coming, isn't New York less safe? Well, I suppose it's only a matter of time before the entire world is engulfed in the crossfire, so it probably makes no difference."

"It does. The bunker is back home."

"Bunker? We have a nuclear shelter?"

"We do. My father and Kurt took the possibility of nuclear war very seriously. I'm sorry I didn't mention it earlier. It never mattered before."

Erik looks down at his food in silence for a long moment, pensive. "You want to resign just before the term starts?" he says at length.

"I'm sure the university would understand. Even if the linguistics department will be disappointed to see you go." Charles pats him on the shoulder.

Erik scoffs as he serves them each a slice of the pie. "Only because they don't know who we are, _what_ we are."

"Things will change, Erik, but that takes time. Changing the minds of people is a very slow process. They're still having trouble accepting a different appearance and way of life, let alone a different species."

Erik sighs, sitting down. "I know. I'm just tired of hiding, Charles, of having to look around to make sure no one is looking every time I can't be bothered to walk across the room just to get a bloody pen, of pretending we're just cousins whenever we're outside together and that I'm not jealous whenever you feign an appropriate level of interest in the surrounding women."

Charles doesn't have to feign it, exactly, but he doesn't say that. Instead, he finally starts on his dinner and replies, "Just because we're not interested doesn't mean we can't be nice and appreciate the view."

"Next you'll say you have to find a girlfriend and go steady because people expect you to produce heirs to your estate."

He puts his fork down emphatically. "I would never do that to you."

Erik stills, his fork upright in his dinner. "Sorry," he says at last.

It's still a full minute of awkward silence before Charles resumes eating.

"When do you want to leave?" Erik asks, changing the subject.

Charles reaches across the table to squeeze his hand. "Would you mind next week?"

"Of course not." Erik presses his lips to Charles's knuckles. "I'll type up the letters."

* * *

><p>"Ah, Adrian Clark," Charles greets warmly as he enters the reception hall, a hand extended to the bespectacled young brunet. "When I received your invite, I thought news sure spreads quickly around New York. I arrived barely a week ago."<p>

"Charles Xavier," the other responds with a laugh, taking Charles's hand and giving him a brotherly hug. "I hear I should call you Doctor now, three times over even. Here, meet my fiancée, Petra." He indicates the blonde beside him, an ornate golden diamond choker accentuating the simple elegance of her emerald satin balcony dress.

There is a hint of nervousness to Petra's smile as she greets Charles.

_Ah? She's one of us,_ he tells Erik. Aloud, he says, "Congratulations! That necklace looks stunning on you," as he shakes her hand.

Erik gives her a closer look. If possible, she seems even more discomfited by the remark. _I didn't think we'd meet any others. What does she do?_

_Oh, Erik, how impressive! She made those diamonds herself! I should like to speak with her about her gift sometime. She can manipulate earth, it seems._ He turns to Adrian. "You're a very lucky man. You've met my cousin, Erik, haven't you?"

"Indeed I have." Adrian and Erik exchange a firm handshake. "Dr. Lehnsherr. All these doctorates in the family." Adrian claps Charles on the shoulder. "Well, I'm sure you won't be running out of wall space in that mansion of yours."

"What about you? What have you been up to since Harvard?"

"I entered the mining business with some help from my uncle some years back, which is good business, but you're right on, Charles; Petra here is the best thing that's ever happened to me. Ever since we started going steady, my people have been discovering diamonds in the copper mines. It's as if she's Fortuna herself!"

Charles smiles knowingly, but only suggests a visit to the buffet table. They each take a small plate of food, and when Charles and Adrian turn to find a table, Erik casually lets Petra see him pick up some silverware without actually reaching into the basket. Her eyes widen, but she doesn't remark on it as they move to join the other two.

_Erik, that's dangerous,_ Charles chides without so much as a glance in his direction.

_You wanted to speak with her about her mutation. Now she will come to us._

This time, Charles squeezes his shoulder briefly while snagging two glasses of wine from a passing waiter's tray. _Your safety, my love, is far more important to me. But thank you._

"Well, I've found my goddess," Adrian says with a laugh, wrapping an arm around a now slightly less nervous Petra, and Erik resents, more than anything, that he can't do the same to Charles. "What about you, Charles? When will it be your turn? I hear there are plenty of stone foxes among the co-eds at Oxford. Broken any hearts yet?"

"A few," Charles admits with a chuckle. "I've yet to meet mine though. I'll be sure to let you know when I do. Hm?" He blinks, looking over Adrian's shoulder at a small group of people conversing animatedly. "Say, who's that talking to the Governor?"

Adrian turns to look before leaning closer to Charles with a grimace. "Oh, that's Colonel Hendry. He was the strongest supporter of the move to place Jupiter missiles in Turkey, which is what started this mess with the Soviets in Cuba in the first place," he answers in a low voice.

"I see..." Charles replies, distracted. He furrows his brow.

_Charles?_ Erik nudges, concerned.

_That's...not Colonel Hendry._ The telepath drops his glass, but fortunately, the table is only half an inch below its base. _Oh... Oh my God._

Out of the blue, the Colonel drops his plate, and Erik's eyes widen as the man sinks to his knees, metamorphosing into a blue...woman with red hair. "Oh my God," he echoes aloud even as she gathers her wits and realizes that everyone is staring. _Charles, did you..?_

_No! I was just looking through her memories. I think she noticed and got distracted. Shit, we have to help her, Erik._

Suddenly, everyone is shouting. People are panicking, and Erik doesn't get a chance to respond as the woman runs for it. Charles gasps and chases her to the window just as she vaults through to escape into the night.

_God, Erik, she has friends, mutant friends! They're trying to start nuclear war. They're the ones who told the Soviets to put missiles in Cuba! Look._

Charles shoves the memories at him and among them, Erik sees a face that makes his blood run cold. _It's him, Charles. It's him._ He can never forget. The face of a monster.

"Jesus Christ," Charles breathes, turning to him, blue eyes wide with horror.

"Charles," he snarls, grabbing the other by the shoulders. Remembering where they are, he switches back to telepathic speech. _You know she's working for him to start World War Three, and you want to help her?_

"Erik..." Charles looks up at him helplessly. "I..." _She's pregnant._


	4. This Time

**Warnings:** Underaged sex. Various flavours of awkward.

.

**Title:** This Time

**Summary:** In which a fourteen-year-old Charles is petulant and Erik can't escape him.

* * *

><p>It's dark, and the room is cold.<p>

He can't move, and there's a cold, hard liquid snaking up his body. It feels like metal, and he pushes at it, but it refuses to budge, just keeps slithering up his torso. Panic rising, he tries to fight it off, but the harder he struggles, the more it tightens. He feels something looking at him from behind, and when he turns, there are eyes.

Glassy, vacant eyes. Huge and unseeing, yet somehow staring right at him.

He's seen them before, somewhere.

He screams and squeezes his eyes shut, still pushing at the bonds. There are more tendrils now, pulling him down, crushing him. One wraps around his neck in a vice-like grip, and he can't breathe—

"Erik!"

Suddenly, he's blinking up at Charles whose fingers are firmly wrapped around his wrists where his hands are outstretched.

"Charles? Was t—What are y—"

_You were having a bad dream. It woke me up._ Charles lets go of his hands. _I came to wake you. Are you all right?_

"Yes." Erik rubs his eyes, relieved. "Yes. I'm sorry that I you woke."

"That I woke you," Charles corrects. _And that's all right. I've been woken by worse._ He climbs into bed beside Erik. _I can't be bothered to go back to my room now. Do you mind?_

Erik shakes his head. Charles shouldn't have to ask; it's his house, after all. But over the last week, Erik has been made to feel like it is his as well. He moves over on the bed to give Charles more space. In response, the younger boy moves closer. Charles is asleep in seconds, and it doesn't take long for Erik to drift off as well.

This time, he doesn't dream.

* * *

><p>There is movement next to him, and he shifts. His head feels heavy, and his limbs are oddly sluggish. When strong arms wrap around him, he smiles. It feels like it's been a long time. Lips press to his neck, and he buries his fingers in soft, short hair. A hot hand slides up his thigh, and he welcomes it, opens himself up to the searching touch. Skin slides against skin, and it sends a tingle of pleasure up his spine. In a husky breath, he hears his name.<p>

"Sharon..."

Charles gasps, sitting up in bed with a lurch. _Oh God._ He buries his face in his hands. This isn't the first time he's found himself in his mother's head when Kurt comes to her in bed, but it normally takes him less time to realize.

Next to him, Erik stirs. "Charles?"

"I'm fine," he whispers. "Just need the bathroom. Go back to sleep."

His legs are unsteady when he slides off the bed. It's difficult to walk like this, but he makes it to the bathroom anyway. Closing the door behind him, he leans against the nearby wall and slides to the floor. It feels warm, and there's a dull, yet insistent throbbing between his legs. At first, he only awoke feeling disturbed. These days, when they wake him, the sensations he has picked up leave him bothered and unsatisfied. He doesn't dislike having his powers, but some days, they are awfully inconvenient.

_Well, best to get this over with,_ he thinks, slipping his hand beneath the waistband of his pajamas. He inhales sharply. This is only the third time he has done this, but it still surprises him how good it feels. Resting his head against the wall, he lets his eyes close as he speeds up his movements, biting his lip to keep himself quiet. Experimentally, he ventures lower, and he barely manages to hold in a whimper as his hips jerk from the pleasure.

He stills, panting. If he continues, he knows Erik will hear. He can sense it. Erik is awake, concerned about him because he isn't back yet. Concentrating, he subtly suggests that Erik wait a little longer instead of coming to take a look and sighs in relief when the idea takes hold.

When he starts moving again, he can't help wondering what this would be like with someone else. After all, everyone else does this in pairs, touching each other instead of themselves, and usually in bed. The thought of bed brings Erik to mind, and he has to cover his mouth to stifle a moan from the rush of pleasure.

_Good lord,_ he thinks, stopping once more. _Do I really—?_

A knock sounds, and he jumps.

_Shit._

"Charles? Is everything all right?" Erik asks from the other side.

Charles swallows thickly to steady his voice before answering, "Yes. I'll be done soon."

"Can I come in?"

_Shit, shit, shit._ He has never said no before. Erik will either be suspicious or hurt, and he's not sure which is worse. Carefully, he rises to his feet, flushes the water closet and goes to the sink. "Sure," he replies, turning the tap to pretend he's washing his hands.

The door opens to the right, and Erik steps in, concern written all over his face. He comes to stand behind Charles, and their reflection in the mirror makes the younger boy feel short. Erik has always been taller than him, but in the last two years, the height difference between them has almost doubled. Erik wraps his arms around him, and Charles mentally curses the entire world for the torture as the throbbing feeling intensifies. Outwardly, he forces himself to relax, leaning back to rest his head on Erik's chest as he turns the tap again.

"What happened?" Erik asks, his deep voice gentle.

Charles licks his lips. His mouth is so dry. "I just..." He shakes his head slightly, wiping his hands. "I just picked up some stray thoughts."

Erik frowns, tensing with worry. "Cain's?"

"No. No, not Cain's."

The embrace tightens, one arm slipping to his waist, and it takes every ounce of effort Charles can muster to keep still.

"You're very warm, Charles. Are you sure you're all right?"

"I—I'm fine. It's my mother," he replies honestly in hopes that Erik will let the subject rest.

Erik falls silent. "Let's go back to bed," he suggests at last.

Charles nods, turning towards the door. It's really hard to walk, and he stumbles, but Erik steadies him, and they crawl into bed together. He turns onto his side, curling up a little, and closes his eyes, trying to ignore the throbbing. Erik's fingers card soothingly through his hair, and he shifts uncomfortably.

"Tell me what's wrong."

Right. Because he normally likes it when Erik does that. He sighs. "Kurt is with her. She is intoxicated enough to think it's my father."

"That upsets you?"

"Not particularly."

Erik doesn't know what to say, but his alternative is worse, and this time, Charles can't repress the shiver of desire that runs through him when he is pulled into a tight hug.

"Charles?"

"Erik." He's breathless, and his voice sounds a little weaker than he'd like. He is about to ask Erik to let go when he hears realization click in the other's mind.

"Oh," is all Erik says in response, but he doesn't let go. Charles writhes. Erik's thoughts are so loud, but he's not acting on them. "Charles, I—"

"Yes!" Charles interrupts, frustrated, and suddenly, Erik is atop him, kissing him on the mouth in a way that leaves him moaning into it. _Shit._ He arches up against the other, and god is it better than he imagined. The buttons on his shirt are being undone, and when Erik's hands run over his bare skin, he barely manages to keep his response to soft keen.

Erik buries his face in the crook of Charles's neck, fingers pausing at the waistband. _Look, I know things are different here, so tell me, Charles. Tell me it's all right that I want to do this to you, that I started thinking about it the first time you kissed me out in the garden._

"I'm not a child, Erik, and the world doesn't have to bloody find out," Charles bites out, impatient.

Erik lifts his head to look into blue eyes. "You're fourteen," he points out ruefully.

"I'm going to Harvard at the end of summer," Charles counters.

"Dear God," Erik mutters, and then they're kissing again. Erik's fingers have found the spot he'd discovered earlier, and Charles doesn't even try to be quiet.

Their clothes are somewhere else now, and Charles has a disconcertingly good grasp of how this works. By the time he's inside, Erik is feeling a little more like the younger of the two, and Charles looks utterly debauched beneath him.

"Shit," he breathes as they move in tandem.

Charles smiles, something like innocence shining in his lust-darkened eyes. "I love you," he says simply, and Erik gives up, clasping the younger boy to him as his vision whites out.

Charles is probably going to wake people. Erik finds he doesn't care.

It's dark, and the room is cold.

Tangled in the sheets and already asleep, Charles is beside him, warm and familiar. This time, Erik doesn't really want to sleep.


End file.
